Always outnumbered, never out gunned
by ThunderCats
Summary: Set 200 or so years in the future Demons have overun the human world, the last survivours are being hunted down. Its up to a renegade bunch of rejects to find the new gate and shut it down.
1. Chapter 1 Pilot

**Chapter 1- Pilot**

The guard who stood on the watchtower was getting very wet.

Tentatively he pressed his back against the damp wall, pulling the hood of his thick fur coat down over his forehead in a futile attempt to shield himself from the rain. He put his left hand deep into his pocket and produced a wet and twisted cigarette. Cursing silently, he held it tightly in his lips, and proceeded to search for a lighter.

A clap of thunder boomed over head and he jumped slightly, mouth opening in shock. The cigarette fell from his lips and landed in a muddy brown puddle. It was a mark of how bad things were that he momentarily considered bending down and trying to salvage it, but it was already beginning to disintegrate.

No, all things considered, it had not been a very good day for Leon Renoir, and now, as the rain whipped against his face stinging his eyes, the cold wind biting at his exposed flesh, he began to get the feeling that it was only going to get worse.

Further along the wall where Renoir stood swearing, the other two guards Volkov and Chung stood deep in conversation, oblivious to the rain. By nature Renoir didn't have many friends, by nature he, and most men of his kind were loners. Strangely, he liked that idea, loners, Renoir the lone wolf, the lone ranger- he thought it sounded pretty cool really.

But in Volkov and Chung, he felt he had found something of a kindred spirit, if, unlike Renoir, you bought into all that new age bullshit. Hell he and Volkov even looked alike, both were tall, muscular with dark hair and dark eyes. They could nearly have been related.

No one ever asked if they were related though- but then again people didn't tend to ask them a whole lot. The rest of the general population tended to avoid men like Volkov, Renoir or Chung.

Over the last four months the three had developed a firm friendship. Chung, like Renoir, was smart. He also had a capacity for violence that both intrigued and astounded the younger man, albeit in a slightly morbid and twisted way.

Renoir also liked the young Russia- well at least he thought he was Russian, all those Eastern European countries were the same anyway.

But tonight Renoir stood a little away from the other two, in his line of work, you had to possesses a certain amount of perceptiveness and intuition, and Renoir possessed both in ample quantities.

Leon Renoir was nervous.

He had noticed a shift in the climate over the past few months. Something subtle, and yet he could feel a constant, palpable tension hanging in the air. It was beginning to bother him, and had become a constant weight on his shoulders, a fear- no more an uncertainty that he could not shake.

A few feet away, the guard Volkov was holding several different colored canisters out for inspection.

It was this perhaps that made Renoir so nervous. Volkov saw himself as the self appointed munitions expert in the compound, his specialty- homemade explosives- those were two words that, in Renoirs opinion should never be used together if at all possible.

It had become common practice for the guards on duty to be called out to Volkov's cabin following reported explosions, usually in the

vague hope he had managed to blow himself up. Thus far they had been thoroughly disappointed.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Volkov's heavily accented voice carried back to him on the wind.

'Zee green one, that is som kind of sleeping gas I tink,' he held up the green canister.

Renoir shuffled forward a few feet, looking apprehensively over Chung's soldier.

'What do you mean think? How do you only think it's a sleeping gas.'

'Vell,' said Volkov shrugging exaggeratedly, 'people certainly stop moving ven I use it so I can only assume…'

'How do you…' began Renoir, but Chung interrupted him.

'And zee red von…'

'Pink,' interjected Chung seriously. Renoir grinned, Chung was a man of few words.

'Is red!' replied an indignant Volkov.

'Pink,' repeated Chung solemnly.

'No is red!' Volkov squared up to the smaller man, their brows touching.

Volkov had a good two feet on Chung, but Renoir still didn't fancy his chances if it came to a fight. Renoir had witnessed the small Asian perform feats that should surly have been rendered impossible by the laws of physics.

Sensing trouble he intervened- after all one of them was holding some potentially volatile materials.

What does it do?'

'Ah!' Volkov was easily distracted, 'Is explosive. Very powerful, my best yet,' he added with a hint of pride. 'And zee yellow…'

'Is blue!'

'Is Yellow!'

'No…' agreed Renoir, 'that's defiantly blue.'

Volkov looked down at it, momentarily puzzled.

'Zont remember a blue, vot do you think it vill do?'

He was met with blank expressions.

'Your asking us?' replied Renoir incredulously.

Volkov blinked at him blankly, and then shook the canister furiously, holding it up to one ear.

'Stop! Jesus you psycho that could be explosive' screamed Renoir, horrified.

'Is probably,' nodded Volkov in agreement, continuing to shake it, 'Vill I throw it? See vot happens?'

'No! Why would you do that?!'

'Vas good idea, I thought…' Volkov looked like a child whose parent had just slapped them. Renoir felt a bit bad.

Neither of them had noticed Chung, who had drifted over to the edge of the high wall, and who now stood surveying the vast, barren wasteland that lay before them.

'You have binoculars?' he asked turning back to Renoir.

'Sure. What's up?' he joined the smaller man at the edge of the wall, squinting into the distance, and unhooking the pack that contained the binoculars from around his waist and handing them over.

Chung was silent, lips pursed in concentration.

Renoir held his breath as he peered over the ramparts. Now he could see them too, shadowy forms in the distance, bursts of fire that illuminated brittle wings and ruined faces. The noise carried back to them now over the howling wind. Screams and howls, deafening and horrifying. A shiver ran down his spine as he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of them.

Demons, hundreds of them.

'Awh shit,' whispered Renoir, 'Awh shit.'

'Is not good?' Volkov had joined them and was peering exaggeratedly over the ramparts.

'No! No is not good, is really not good,' agreed Renoir. For a moment he despaired, his mind drawing a blank, his orders and training forgotten. Panic, blind panic threatened to consume him. But the sight of his friends, the closest thing he would ever have to a family standing by his side brought him back. _Think, _he chided himself _just think God damn it!_

'Sound the alarm,' he said at last 'they're coming.'

Then they turned, and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The first thing that struck Renoir as they raced to the assembly point was that they didn't die, which was good, the second was Captain Jake Franklin was already waiting at the foot of the stairs, which was bad. _Captain_! Who the fuck calls themselves captain anymore he mused, like what the fuck was he, a superhero- _Captain fucking America?_

Jake Franklin claimed to have fought in Vietnam, World War 2 and the American Civil war, though oddly enough not World War 1 which evidently wasn't interesting enough. The fact that this would have made him around five hundred and seventy three didn't seem to bother him much. Renoir wasn't exactly his biggest fan, Franklin always referred to him as that Frenchman a fact which puzzled rather then annoyed Renoir- he had never been to France. In fact the furthest out of state he'd ever been had been that last trip to Oklahoma nearly three years ago, and he hadn't thought much of it.

The one thing Renoir did know about Captain Jake Franklin was that he possessed all the qualities that would make a rather good Labrador- easily distracted, rather indecisive, obeys simple instructions- but, in common with the Labrador, lacked those necessary for becoming a good general- does not cope well under stress, sub human intelligence, can not operate heavy machinery. Unfortunately, Renoir thought that the position for Labrador in Chief must have been taken, and so poor old Jake got shunted to the side, and was instead appointed general of their small task force of 20. On the scale of things that would make good generals, Jake Franklin ranked somewhere between sock puppet and spaghetti Bolognese, less effective then a sock puppet, but more useful then spaghetti- marginally. Nope, thought Renoir ruefully, it really wasn't his day.

'Sir!' he said, standing sharply to attention. beside him, Chung and Volkov mirrored his actions, Volkov hurriedly stowing the brightly coloured canisters back into his many pockets.

'Well? What's the situation?' said the captain, twirling his moustache around one long pale finger.

'Demons Sir, at least fifty, moving this way. We make it mostly lessers, maybe Valkeries but hopefully only Feeders, Chung thinks there's a Frost out there too. There's something else though Sir…'

Captain Jake held up a hand silencing him with one smooth movement. For a moment he was silent. Then, to nobody in particular 'No I don't understand the Frenchman, someone get me Xavrios, quickly.'

Renoir almost danced a jig. Salem Xavrios, second in command, and gifted soldier. Now we are getting somewhere.

**************************

'Jesus Christ, that is not good' Salem Xavrios listened to Renoirs account, wide eyed, rubbing his temples roughly.

'I know,' Volkov assumed what he took to be a solemn expression, and nodded wisely, 'is vot I said, is not good.'

Salem looked at him for a moment before turning back to Renoir.

'You said there's more… More to tell.'

For the first time Renoir looked a little embarrassed.

'Like I said we cant be sure…'

'Is this about the frost?' Garcia, the small Hispanic man piped up from behind Salem, 'look if that's what he said he saw its what he saw. We gotta prepare for that, it ain't like they gone and wrapped a Valkrie in tinfoil for a mascot or something…'

'No its… Its' like there organised, like there in some kind of battle formation.' Renoir didn't meet either of there eyes.

'That's impossible, they're demons man, no one commands them,' Garcia's tone was dismissive.

Salem nodded slowly. Renoir still didn't look convinced, but said nothing, instead turning to the younger man.

'Salem, we need a plan.'

As if out of habit they turned to Captain Franklin, who was barking disjointed commands to the handful of confused soldiers.

'Arm your munitions men. ATTENTION. Infantry positions. To the battle fields! About turn! Man the turrets… Oh dear oh dear, do we even have turrets?… Forward March?'

Already the great iron gates were creaking under the pressure of holding back so many enemies. _There here. _It seemed impossible and yet he had seen them with his own eyes. They had come for them all, as he knew they must.

'Right here's what we do.'

Salem's voice did not waiver when he spoke, and Renoir felt heartened.

'Caleb, Lewis, Jackson, Turner' as he spoke the men stepped forward, 'You four take the Captain here and begin evacuating the women and children out the back entrance. Make for Gallia, they'll give us refuge.'

The men nodded once to show they understood.

'Turner your in command, wait for us there, what ever happens, don't turn back.' He placed a hand on the other mans shoulder.

'Sir, where are you going?' Turner's voice was hesitant as if he already knew the answer.

'Were gonna try buy you some time. Good luck.'

Turner looked as though he was about to protest, but instead only nodded, and turned, the five men melting into the shadows, amid screams and cries, inhuman howls, and Captain America's shrieks.

'Retreat, retreat. They've breached the fortress. Oh if only we had had turrets!'

'Right,' said Salem turning back to the remaining fifteen men, and ignoring the outburst.

'Divide into three, Denilson, Garcia, Foreman, Harrow with me. We take centre line. Renoir command the right, take Volkov, Chung, Carrick and Evans. Thompson, command the left, the rest of you fall to him.'

They slipped silently into the allocated groups, the hours of drills and training paying of as they moved seamlessly and without preamble.

'So what's the plan Xavi' piped up Garcia from Salem's right.

'Plan? Fedde, that _was_ the plan.'

'You call that a plan?!! Man were SCREWED.'

Salem grinned.

'Yeah probably.'

***********************

Chung tightened his grip on the handle of the Plasmablade, flicking the switch at it's base with his thumb. As he moved, he felt that first surge of electricity coursing through the sword-like device, reassuring in its familiarity. He often felt as though the blade was a part of him, more like an extension of his arm then a separate entity. He shifted his feet slightly, testing the ground. The waiting was the worst. It was truly dark now, the indigo sky he remembered replaced by black clouds, the stars' fires extinguished. Nothing but unbroken, unyielding blackness. The rain came down heavily, a great veil of silver. He tried not to worry how the storm would effect his vision, how the slick smooth stone that glistened wetly beneath his feet would effect his balance and agility. One fatal mistake was all it took. The waiting was always the worst.

They stood in the little courtyard that backed onto the compound's large gate, all nervous, all restless. Renoirs men stood in 'V' formation, with Renoir on point his twin charged blades raised, glowing eerily in the gloom. To his left stood Volkov tense and still. Chung could see Volkov's weapon of choice, a large pyrocraft resting against his leg. Chung smiled slightly, so predictable that the man enthralled by explosions and the scent of gunpowder would choose the most destructive weapon within easy reach. The pyrocraft was similar to an old flamethrower in theory, though to try compare them would be like trying to explain the difference between a pellet gun to a bazooka. Power beyond imagination, the pyrocraft shot balls of bright flames at the assailant, that would engulf them completely. Developed at the turn of the century it was still a relatively new invention, though had been proven to be highly effective in the right hands. Right now Renoir looked as though he was highly doubting that those hands were Volkov's.

The sound of metal screeching against metal had reached a whole new level now, the howls and screams intensified. It couldn't be long now. Through the iron bars Chung could see the writhing mass of pale entwined bodies, and felt himself shiver. He concentrated on the heat of the blade in his right hand, the steadiness of his breathing. A few meters away him he saw Salem's body relax slightly, his tense muscles slackening, ready to lash out. Ahead, the bars were beginning to snap. The first demon, what Chung took to be a Valkrie forced its elongated head between the bars, long twisted fingers tearing feverously through the iron.

'Hold formation,' bellowed Renoir to his four men.

The gates came down with one last crash.

'Hold.'

Chung could see Carrick, the youngest man in Renoirs formation, hardly eighteen years old, shaking uncontrollably. The pistol in his hand was hanging uselessly by his side. If the boy broke, Chung would be completely exposed on the left.

'Get ready' called Renoir.

Chung tensed, alert.

They were almost upon them and Chung found he could make out the details of the creatures now. The long brittle looking limbs ending in gnarled impossibly strong fingers, the blank white eyes. Chung could make out knotted muscles and tendons beneath the thin papery skin.

A sob escaped from the lips of the boy behind him.

_Just hold _Chung willed him _For two seconds JUST HOLD!_

They were two feet ahead now.

'And Break,' Renoir yelled wielding his blade viciously cutting through the first in one smooth movement.

He had timed it perfectly, the first wave of demons had staggered to deal with their formation. Chung grinned as he sidestepped the attack of a particularly tall one with ease, turning his body as he did so and slamming the flat side of his blade into the face of another with such force that he could have sworn he heard the sound of breaking bones. To his left he saw a ball of flames writhing on the floor. The result of Volkov's trigger-happy hands he thought happily as he dodged a second attack. He brought down two with one wide sweep, ahead he saw Renoir decapitate a third dousing himself in thick silver blood in the process. And yet they were loosing ground, being forced back by sheer numbers towards the wall. He pressed forward, knowing that if they were cornered they wouldn't stand a chance.

A horrible scream behind him made him pause, turning to see the young boy Carrick engulfed beneath at least four Valkeries. He tried to reach him but already he knew it was to late. The boys screams shattered the air. Chung ran, without time to raise his sword he merely slammed into the first sending it sprawling sideways. He brought down another, swinging the blade in a great arc. Carrick had stopped screaming now, though Chung thought the silence was perhaps worse then the yells.

He felt a fire blazing inside him, a deep anger coursing through him. The boy had been just a kid. He threw himself forward wildly, the sword little more then a silver blur before him as he sliced and jabbed, dancing just out of reach of the flailing limbs, and the long fingers that reached out to ensnare him. He no longer cared about formation all he wanted was to kill, to find some way of revenging the young boy whose life had been ended so cruelly.

************************

Salem wasn't aware he had been cut until he saw the blood, a jagged crimson line that zigzagged down his forearm. Not good. Already they had lost the Englishman-Harrow in the first wave, and the South American called Denilson was limping slightly, his left knee twisted at an odd angle. Foreman was visibly struggling, his age a clear disadvantage. He looked west. The Asian was still cutting down demons left right and centre with a fluidity and skill unlike anything Salem had ever seen and the creatures were giving him a wide berth. Renoir was bringing down their share too. Evans was injured and being practically entirely supported by Volkov. He could no longer see Thompson, the third group lost to him.

'This isn't working'

Garcia sounded as exhausted as Salem felt.

'We need a plan Xavi.'

'Suggestions welcome Fedde,' he called backing, blocking yet another attack with his right arm, while jabbing with the left. Hopeless. So tired. So hot. Another blast of fire. The Pyrocraft. The Russian. And a plan.

'Quick I've got an idea,' Salem called, ' Garcia, Foreman, Denilson to me. We need to reach the others.'

'Yeah, about fucking time,' Garcia spat blood out of his mouth.

They reformed in a line, pushing forward together, Garcia helping Denilson.

'Renoir can you see Volkov, has he still got those canisters, the explosives?' Salem yelled over his shoulder side stepping what would have been a lethal blow.

'Of Course,' Foreman grinned catching on, 'We'll nuke the fuckers. Know all about that wouldn't you Garcia?'

'Sorry?' Garcia, two feet too his left was confused.

'Like fucking Hiroshima!'

'Hiroshima?'

'Damn right Chin Chang Cho. World War two, dropped the fat man! Well certainly thought your people a lesson. Don't mess with the super power!'

'My people. Pappy, Hiroshima was Japan?'

'Yeah?'

'Im not fucking Japanese, Im from Mexico?'

'Same difference, y'all speak that language.'

'What Spanish?'

'Yeah that, fucking Japanese shit, same thing. Not American is it?!'

'How is that the…'

'Guys seriously, not the time for a fucking cultural debate!' Salem cut across. 'Renoir?'

'Yeah he's up ahead.'

'Call him back, call everyone back, were changing tactics.'

'What, now?'

'No whenever suits no time pressure,' Garcia panted.

'Yes now call them back.'

'Lets regroup!' bellowed Renoir.

Within minutes Volkov was by his side, still supporting Evans who was almost entirely drained of colour. Chung took a little longer, but when he returned he was dragging Thompson who was unconscious, and leading a bloody-faced boy named Romero. Chung thrust Thompson towards Foreman unceremoniously, who caught him under the arms.

'We gotta retreat,' Salem informed them pushing Garcia sideward as a particularly nasty looking demon made for his throat, instead finding Chung's sword.

'Listen, Renoir I want you to lead the rest of the men through the side gate, lock it behind you.'

'They'll break through that in minutes,' Renoir protested.

'That's where you come in.' Everyone turned to look at Volkov. 'I'm gunna need that Pyrocraft, give Chung any explosives you have.'

Chung looked up questioningly, as Volkov miserably handed over the brightly coloured canisters.

'Your coming with me,' Salem grinned.

'Where?'

'Up there,' he gestured towards the highest point of the wall.

Chung looked from the Pyrocraft to the explosives, and then back.

'Brilliant,' he whispered, grinning broadly.

'We break on go, Renoir to the gate, Chung and I to the stairs. Foreman take Thompson, Romero help him, take his feet.'

They all nodded.

'Go!'

They broke Chung and Salem running left, Renoir and the others, right. Momentarily the demons were confused, unsure which way to go, then they followed Renoirs group.

'Shit' Renoir hissed as he ran, lashing out with his twin swords. Suddenly, Volkov was alongside him, Salem's twin blades tucked under his arms.

'You know…' he began, as they pelted towards the side gate, which was left mercifully open, 'I hope zat he vill give them back.'

'In a manner of speaking, I guess he will.'


	3. Chapter 3 Army of two

A really big thanks to my Brilliant Beta Bustahead (hehe lovein the aliteration),

Who stops my saying things like; As if to confirm my suspensions or he was defiantly not happy...

And, stops me, going absolutly, totally, mad with loads, and, loads of commas....

Thamks again!!

So.... here we go ;)

* * *

Chapter 3- Army of Two

Salem ran, swinging the pyrocraft wildly as he went, desperately trying to clear a path in the sea of grey creatures. It seemed to be working, with the demons unwilling to place themselves within range of the flames, or Chung's Plasmablade. _That guy just doesn't give up_, thought Salem as he cast a curious glance over his shoulder. Already Salem's legs felt like lead, his brow wet with sweat his breathing heavy and ragged, but Chung moved like a man possessed, never slowing hardly seeming to tire. They had reached the foot of the stairs now, and he turned to see how the others were fairing.

The larger group were already at the gate. Volkov, Renoir and the kid Romero had formed a kind of semicircle around the exit, while Garcia who was sandwiched between a limping Evans, and a rather embarrassed looking Denilson made it through to the other side. Foreman and the unconscious Thompson were already out of sight.

They were already running out of time.

'Get ahead of me,' yelled Salem, and Chung overtook him on the stairs. Salem flicked the heat switch on the bottom of the weapon to full power and trained it on the end off the stairs to stop the demons who were still howling madly, from perusing them.

'O.k. so when you get to the top of the stairs, throw the canisters, then I'll blast them with this,' Salem said, gesturing with the Pyrocraft. He nearly incinerating his own shoes, and noted glumly that he preferred weapons that reduced rather then increased the risk of self-cremation.

'What we do then?' Chung asked, pausing with one foot on the top step, his blade held loosely at his side while he searched his pockets with his right hand for the brightly coloured canisters.

'What do you mean?' Salem called back, turning to face him, waving the Pyrocraft blindly over his shoulder, and wincing slightly as he felt the hairs on his arms singeing.

'How we get down?'

_How do we get down_, _that is a damn good question, How the hell did I not think of that before_.

He said nothing, praying for inspiration.

_Think think think!! Perhaps Chung won't notice…._

'You not think of that?' Chung was staring at him, mouth hanging open, 'You want set this place on fire and you not think of how we get down?'

Salem was silent.

'You idiot,' Chung waved his sword threateningly. Salem took a step back, actually did manage to burn his shoes this time and swore loudly.

'Shit! Look were gonna have to jump.'

'Jump? Seriously? Off wall?'

'No up and down it's like a game,' muttered Salem, keeping his voice low because Chung was still waving the Plasmablade in his direction. 'Yes off the wall. Its high enough but I think we'll make it, at the worst a broken ankle or two.'

'Great, is really great.'

'Got a better idea? No? Didn't think so. Look…' there was an almost desperate note to his voice now, 'We're running outta time.'

This much was true, Renoir who had been the last through the side gate had slammed it shut behind him, and it was taking the combined efforts of Garcia, Volkov, Romero, Foreman and Renoir himself to keep it that way.

Chung wandered to the edge of the wall and peered over the ramparts. It was dark, too dark to make out anything but a few fuzzy looking bushes, and a gnarled tree trunk.

'O.k.' Chung was not happy, but agreed all the same.

'O.k. So on three, you throw, I'll spray, we jump. Easy.'

'Easy.'

'One…'

The muscles in Chung's legs tensed as he placed one foot on the ramparts.

'Two…'

Salem crouched, Pyrocraft ready, pointing skyward.

'Three!'

Chung threw the canisters as far as he could and they tumbled down towards the courtyard where the demons were still trying to find a way to get through the gate. At the same instant, Salem swung the pyrocraft up and around sending a great wave of flame in the direction of the airborne explosives. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the two men watching in fascination as fire found metal. There was perhaps a second when Salem feared it would not work, a small spark hovered, suspended in the darkness. And then a small ripple began, a bright light twinkling, spreading.

'Jump!'

The two men hurled themselves forwards just in time. The force of the explosion caught them mid jump propelling them forward and downward. The sky seemed to be on fire, so bright that Salem felt that the image would be forever burned onto his retinas.

A wave of intense heat, dizzying, vertiginous.

Blaring white noise, his head was spinning, ears ringing.

Shock. The moment of impact.

And then darkness. Blissful darkness.

**********************

By the time Salem had called three, Renoir was already running. To his left he saw Volkov tear ahead, arms over his head, face pale, eyes wide. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the explosion of light. And suddenly the ground was no longer there. He was flung forward several feet, landing in the soft wet mud with a faint squelch.

'Like fucking Hiroshima.'

Foreman was extricating himself from a thorn bush several feet behind him.

'That'll teach them to fuck with us.'

Slowly the others began to sit up, nursing injured arms and split lips. Thompson, the third commander, had regained consciousness and was looking completely mystified by his surroundings. Garcia patted Volkov on the back.

'That is some mad skill you got there.'

Volkov grinned modestly like a proud father.

'Vas good yes?'

'Was fucking awesome!'

'Denilson? Evans?' Renoir called, testing his ankle and wincing slightly, as the sharp pain spread to his knee.

'Remind me never, ever to let Salem come up with a plan again,' Denilson grinned a cut above his left eye.

'Worked though didn't it?' came Evan's voice from somewhere to Renoir's left.

'Don't mess with the superpower.'

'Yeah Foreman, sure they'll know better next time,' Denilson grinned at Garcia.

'Wouldn't bet on it,' came the reply, 'You gooks never learnt your lesson.'

'But I'm from…'

'It's cause you speak Spanish,' explained Garcia wisely.

Everyone laughed at the stunned look on the young Argentinean's face as he tried to figure this out. Laughter turned to cheering, and they spent a few happy moments reliving the battle.

'That one Garcia took with his bare hands.'

'Or when Renoir sliced down two at once.'

'Or Chung!'

'My Pyrocraft, you see eet?'

'You guys think we should move on?' It was Garcia that finally posed the inevitable question.

'I guess… Gallia, it's west isn't it?' Denilson was uncertain.

'Southwest, about half an hour away.'

'It'll be morning soon, we'll be safe then. The demons only hunt at night.' Evans had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching the sky which was already lightening to a brilliant red.

Renoir was on his feet, resuming the position of commander.

'Let's move out. Thompson can you walk?'

The bewildered officer nodded mutely.

'Alright then Garcia, you and Volkov help Denilson. Evans, Foreman and I can support you. The rest of you fall in behind.'

There was a murmur of ascent and slowly they took their positions without complaint. Their progress was slow yet no one complained. They were thankful to be alive, the taste of victory still fresh, as they turned their backs on the ruined compound, and made their way towards the rising sun.

**********************

_Am I dead? No I can't be dead… my head definitely wouldn't hurt if I was dead._ Salem was aware of a dull pounding in his temples. Chung was obviously thinking along the same lines as he was.

'You dead?' Salem didn't fail to notice the lack of concern in the Asian man's tone.

'I don't think so.'

'Is good.'

'It is? Really?'

'Yes is good, means that I can kill you.'

'Hey my plan saved our asses back there!'

'You set us on fire.'

'There was no other way out.'

'But you set us on fire.

'What else could we do?'

'The hell kind of a person sets other people on fire?!'

'I set myself on fire too!'

'That doesn't make it better! Is that meant to make it better?! The Fuck?!'

Salem sighed.

'Ok I'm sorry for setting you on fire,' he conceded the point.

'Good. Now what?'

'Good question.'

Salem climbed gingerly to his feet. His head really hurt. Chung was kneeling on the ground, holding his left wrist which was swollen and discoloured. His face was blackened and his eyebrows were singed. Salem grinned.

'What?'

'Nothing, lets get moving, ok?'

'Yes alright. Can't wait to tell the others about your great plan.'

'The one where I set you on fire?'

'Yes, that.'

'I think they'll see the funny side.'

He held out a hand and helped Chung to his feet.

'So, Gallia?'

'Yeah, We'll meet the others there, we can work out a plan, what to do next.'

The prospect didn't seem to exactly thrill Chung. They looked back to the smoking ruins of their old home. Nothing stirred, the silence was almost eerie. They began walking west. In the distance they could make out a group of figures making slow progress towards the horizon. They were little more than black silhouettes against the blazing sunrise. Salem did a quick head count, and let out a sigh of relief, then ran, Chung matching his pace, to meet his friends.


	4. Chapter 4 Gallia

* * *

Chapter 4

_It's been a while but i thought I'd have another go at this!_

_Please R&R and let me know waht you think_

_Thanks_

_Cats;)_

* * *

The compound of Gallia stood on a cliff top overlooking a steep drop into a deep ravine that was treacherous and had so far proved to be impossible to scale. The other side was surrounded by a deep, unexplored forest, dark and impenetrable that rendered it completely invisible from any distance. Had Salem not known exactly where to look he doubted he would have been able to find the compound unaided.

A winding river passed through it, granting it a constant supply of fresh water, within the walls he knew there were acres of green fields religiously kept and maintained by the colony's many farmers. The place had been designed to be completely self sufficient, a little independent world all of its own. And yet to those who, like Renoir or Thompson had grown up in the liberal compound of Clementine which was now little more then ashes, the colony seemed more like a prison then a fortress. As they approached, the dark walls loomed dark and oppressive overhead, encasing them all in a dark shadow that even the brilliant sunrise could not keep at bay. The wrought iron gate cast long spidery shadows that seemed to writhe and twist in the wind. Salem felt a distinct shiver run down his spine, as the sheer scale and grandeur of the place seemed to impress upon all of them. Well almost all…

'Is very big this place,' said Volkov in a decidedly unimpressed voice, swinging a kick at the base of the vast stone structure.

Salem grinned feeling the tension ease a little.

'Yeah, see that's kinda the point isn't it?'

They stood in silence for a few moments, surveying the scene before them.

'Um, do you think we should knock or something?' Garcia had joined Salem a few feat from the gate, and was viewing it with apprehension.

'What do you want to do? It's not like there's a door bell,' Salem frowned slightly.

'Say something Salem, introduce us or something' Renoir joined the two, grinning broadly.

'Why me?' came the indignant reply.

''Cos you're 'sposed to be the leader.'

'Oh yeah,' Salem stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly.

Almost immediately, the ruddy face of a guard with an impressive moustache and a polished helmet appeared at the top of the wall. He regarded Salem and his men with an expression of deep distrust for a moment.

'Who goes there?' his voice carried down to them, loud and pompous. Salem looked around wildly for inspiration. Already Garcia was laughing, he heard him hiss to Renoir.

'Who goes there? Who the fuck talks like that? Its like 1600's England.'

'Like knights of the round table?'

'Welcome to Camelot.'

'I'll be your host Sir Galahad'

Salem cleared his throat again, shaking his head. _It's like having kids _he mused.

'My name is General Salem Xavrios, we hale from Clementine. Our compound was attacked and destroyed, we're seeking sanctuary. Im looking for Lieutenant Tell, he's an old friend.'

The guards frown deepened to a look of intense concentration.

'Sank-tree…' he repeated, 'loo-ten-ant…'

Salem nodded hopefully; adopting what he hoped was a sincere expression. The red-faced guard nodded once before disappearing behind the wall. The gathered soldiers exchanged mystified looks, and Salem had just opened his mouth to call again when the gate began to creak open slowly.

'Proceed' boomed an unseen voice.

Salem turned to Renoir, who shrugged slightly before entering the compound. As though they had been waiting for a cue, the others turned and followed suit. As in Clementine, the gate opened on to a large courtyard, yet this one was at least ten times the size of the one left behind. Almost immediately, they became aware of being watched, and turned to see the wall they had just passed through was lined with guards clutching long range weapons. The sight did nothing to reassure them.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence. Salem turned to see the guard who he had spoken to approaching, almost running to keep up with a second, much taller man.

'General Tell,' he panted by way of explanation. The second man was tall and slim, almost 6''5, and was dressed impeccably. He carried himself gracefully and stood with a degree elegance and poise that Salem knew neither he nor any of his men could ever achieve. He became immediately aware of how shabby they all must look. Tell's eyes lingered on Renoir's mud-smeared face, Chung's singed eyebrows, and Thompson's bloody lip. He held out an elegant, well manicured hand to Salem, who hastily wiped his sweaty palm on his torn combats before taking it. Tell didn't flinch.

'General Xavrios? Welcome to Gallia, General Daniel Tell at your service.' He spoke with the faintest trace of an accent that Renoir took to be upper-class British.

'General? What idiot thought it was a good idea to make you a General?'

The two Generals regarded each other for a long moment, before Tell's face split into a wide grin.

'The same idiot that thought it was a good idea to let you graduate military school.'

'Fair point.'

'It's been to long brother.'

Salem turned to his men, 'Tell and I grew up together. His parents took me in when I was around nine. He's pretty much the closest thing to family I have.'

'I never knew you felt that way. You make me feel so special.'

Salem rolled his eyes, 'I didn't mean it as a compliment.'

'What other way could you possibly mean it?'

'Family as in that I can't get rid of you?' Salem replied hopefully.

Tell chose to ignore this.

'You must be exhausted,' he addressed the assembled soldiers, 'I can have one of my men show you to the barracks. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish.'

There was a general grateful murmur of ascent and Tell turned back to Salem.

'I would however welcome your company, I feel we have much to discuss.'

'Sure. I really appreciate this.'

'That I highly doubt, but that is neither here nor there. George?'

The ruddy faced guard appeared immediately at the young General's side.

'Show general Xavrios' men to the barracks, and ensure they are comfortable.' The little man nodded before trotting of, gesturing for the weary soldiers to follow him. Salem watched the retreating figures, smiling slightly. Renoir's voice carried back to him as he turned to Garcia.

'I got one! What do you call a doctor in Camelot?'

'What?'

'Sir John! Get it? Sir John… Surgeon!'

'That's actually not bad. Did you just come up with that?'

'Yeah pretty good for a spur of the moment thing.'

Salem turned back to Tell still grinning.

'You wouldn't guess that under an hour ago we were seconds from being Demon food would you?'

'Impressive resilience. So tell me,' began his friend, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow, 'the demons, how on earth did you get out of that one.'

'As usual nothing escapes you.'

'I make it my business to keep up to date with the fortunes of old acquaintances.'

'So in other words you make it your business to learn all about things that are none of your business?'

'Something like that. The woman and children from your colony arrived a few hours before you, along with some of your men, and your… em… Captain.'

'Captain America?'

'That's the one. Is that his real name? Anyway, they told me you attempted to hold of the demons to give them a chance to escape.'

'I'm quiet the hero.'

'Certainly. So how did you manage it?'

Salem recounted the story in detail while his friend listened, wide eye. For the next few hours the two men reminisced at length about the events of their childhood, their education as soldiers, and the many battles they had endured since they had last parted. By the time they had finished, Salem's voice was hoarse and the sun was high in the sky.

* * *

********* ********* ********

* * *

Renoir wasn't entirely sure at exactly what point he realised that he was being watched. He opened his eyes in the gloom searching for the unseen presence he was sure he could sense. He raised his head a few inches off the pillow listening intently. The silence was broken only by the sound of Chung's heavy breathing and Volkov's muffled snores. He shook his head slightly, attempting to shake the feeling that was making him so uneasy. He squinted slightly, peering around the small underground room in the Gallia barracks searching for something, anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing. And yet he was sure that someone waited, watching just beyond his range of vision.

Accepting the fact that sleep was now impossible, he reached under his pillow, removing the blade that he had concealed there earlier. In one swift movement he threw back the covers, dropping from the bunk-bed to the floor with a barely audible thud. _There at the door, a flash of white hair and pale eyes._ The figure disappeared, melting into the shadows. Without thinking Renoir followed, through the door and into the hall. At the end of the corridor he caught another glimpse of the person, a tall willowy man cloaked in grey, walking purposefully towards the main gate. A moment of indecision, '_this is crazy, following a man around a town I don't know' _and yet the curiosity overcame him.

The man proceeded to leave the barracks. If he was aware that he was being followed he appeared not to care for he walked with the same deliberate pace, unhurried, never looking over his shoulder. Renoir followed, the blade still clutched in his left hand, staying several paces behind. The man turned off the main road, disappearing between to houses. Renoir was sure he had lost him, and cursed himself silently for being so overcautious. He quickened his pace, almost running to the gap. It led onto a small winding street, lined on both sides by buildings in the distance he could see the cloaked man, turning on to another street. Renoir was running now, with no thought of concealing himself. The man led him deeper into the heart of the town along narrow streets, often disappearing between buildings once leading Renoir underground before returning to the surface. Renoir became aware that it was getting darker. He stopped in his tracks. _But when I left it was dawn_. He felt a shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air. The man turned into a building a few feet ahead. Renoir approached cautiously. The building was unremarkable, as dilapidated and run down as all the others that surrounded it. Renoir approached the boarded up window's peering between the rotting planks of wood. A flickering light suggested that a fire burned instead. Silently Renoir debated turning back, returning to the barracks and forgetting the bizarre encounter completely. But he'd come this far hadn't he? He took a step forward, placing a cold palm against the wooden frame of the door. Without warning it swung open, revealing the tall man Renoir had been pursuing.

'You took your time, getting here.'

Renoir looked over his shoulder, but the street was deserted. He looked back at the man. He was older then Renoir would have guessed, with long white hair that seemed to fan out behind him and kind a kind, heavily lined face. He reminded Renoir of his grandfather, albeit with longer hair. He smiled at Renoir's look of confusion his hazel eyes twinkling.

'Who are you?' Renoir managed eventually.

'I have many names,' replied the man, turning his back to Renoir and retreating further into the house, beckoning to Renoir to follow him. Renoir didn't move.

'That's very enigmatic of you,' he said, and the old man turned back to face him sighing.

'They call me Gabriel, I am the bookkeeper.'

'See was that so difficult?' Renoir was starting to feel irritated slightly. Who did this man think he was? The bookkeeper merely smiled.

'And you my friend are Renoir.'

'How do you know that?' Renoir felt his jaw dropping, something very strange was happening.

'Your wearing a name tag,' the old man was pointing at Renoir's chest where his last name was written on his military uniform. Renoir grinned relaxing slightly. He was being ridiculous.

'You were watching me though.'

'Yes,' Gabriel conceded.

'Why?'

'I needed to be sure of something?'

'Of what?' Renoir frowned.

'That you were the one I was searching for.'

'O.k. enough with the mystical mysterious bullshit. What the hell is going on here?'

'I've brought you here to give you something.'

'You didn't bring me here, I followed you.'

The man held his palms up in a gesture of surrender.

'I forget myself, won't you permit an old man to indulge himself?'

Renoir shrugged saying nothing and Gabriel continued.

'I feel that this will help you find what you are looking for.'

'You're deluded. I'm not looking for anything.'

'Not yet perhaps, but in time this will help you find the one you seek.'

'Great. Eh thanks...'

By the stage Renoir was convinced that the man was insane and that he was better off placating him after all he didn't want to upset a crazy person. Something in Gabriel's expression made Renoir think the old man knew exactly what he was thinking.

'I'm afraid there is much you do not understand and I apologise that I am not at liberty to explain it,' said Gabriel.

'Don't worry about it,' said Renoir, suddenly eager to leave and return to the barracks.

'So I will leave you with this,' the old man placed a withered hand inside his cloak and withdrew a leather bound book that looked even older then he did. He held it out to Renoir, whose curiosity once again got the better of him. He accepted the book.

'What is this?' he asked hesitantly.

'A book.'

'Thank you Captain Obvious, What do you want me to do with it?'

'Read it.'

Gabriel held up a hand to silence Renoir's predictable rebuke.

'Understand it, do what you will with it, but most of all remember it.'

'What do you mean remember it?'

'So many questions so little time.'

'Why do people always say that? We got loads of time. It's not like you got anywhere you need to be.'

'On the contrary, there are many places I must be, but only one place you must be. We will meet again soon Leonardo.'

'Uh great I'll look forward to it.'

'In the meantime…'

'I got it, read the book.'

'And remember?'

'Sure.' Renoir looked down at the faded blue leather cover, and traced the ornate gold lettering with one finger.

_Soldiers of Armageddon;_

_The diaries of V.L.S._

'Who's VLS?' asked Renoir looking up. But Gabriel was gone. Quickly he ran to the door of the building, looking up and down the street but it was deserted. _Crazy old man_ he thought smiling to himself, but he kept the book, tucking it in his pocket. For some reason, a reason he could not quiet explain even to himself he had already resolved to keep the encounter with the old man, and indeed the book itself, a secret. He set off in silence, tracing his steps carefully making his way back to the barracks. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the darkened sky. It was as though no time at all had passed since he had left perusing Gabriel. Something was bothering him, something Gabriel had said. It wasn't until he reached the barrack gates that he realised what it was.

'He knew my full name,' he spoke aloud, stopping in his tracks. No one knew his full name he had always been Leon. For the second tome in a very short period of time, Leon Renoir had the feeling that he was being watched.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5 Fear Only Surrender

**A/N **sorry about the very long time between updates here, the plot kind of started running away with itself and all got quiet confusing… hope I'm still making some vague semblance of sense

TC;)

Chapter 5

Time in Gallia seemed to pass easily, the comfortable hours slipping into days, gliding into weeks, until Salem found that nearly a month had passed since they had left the smouldering ashes of their compound.

It was odd he thought, how we persevered, how the men who he served with had lost everything- possessions, loved ones, homes and yet the resilience of the human spirit seemed to overcome it.

The days were filled with combat practice, his soldiers making him proud as they drilled in the courtyard with the Gallia men, him and Tell taking turns at command, or alternatively splitting the group in two and pitting their wits against each other.

It reassured him that where before they had been a small task force of less then two dozen, now they were a military force to be reckoned with.

It should all have been this easy he mused one night, as he wandered the silent barracks. The transition from the old life to the new had been so simple, and yet he was uneasy, something he couldn't explain niggling at him, becoming more clear with the passage of time. It was a shadow, little more then a flicker of doubt that he caught in Tell's eyes at times, something akin to fear, but fear of what he could not be sure.

It was getting dark by the time Salem found Tell. He was sitting on the highest point of the wall, a solitary figure that was little more then a dark silhouette against the indigo sky.

'I've been looking for you for ages,' said Salem taking a seat next to him. Tell remained silent, staring out over the tree tops that stretched as far as the eye could see. Salem frowned, rubbing vigorously at his aching temple after a few moments of silence he sighed.

'Dan, what's going on here?'

This time his friend looked up. Perhaps it was the light, or the way the shadows fell on the older man's face, but Salem thought he looked as though he had aged ten years in a matter of weeks. Tell's fingers absently stroked the hilt of his sword, he closed his eyes tightly for a long moment and then looked up.

'It's hard…' he began hesitantly, 'hard to explain.'

Salem remained silent, watching the face of the man who was like an older brother to him.

'There are rumours…' he continued eventually.

'Rumours?'

'Among the men.'

'What sort of rumours?'

Tell did not reply immediately but continued to stare out into the shadows, deep in thought.

'I'm afraid Salem.'

'Dan…?'

'The last few months… it's been the same. Hardly a day passes now where another colony doesn't arrive on our doorstep seeking sanctuary.'

Salem bristled slightly, feeling his face grow hot.

'Where do you expect us to go?'

Tell seemed to realise what he'd said and shook his head vigorously.

'You misunderstand me.'

'Then explain because I'm not that stupid.'

Tell sighed and turned to face his friend.

'I don't know; think of it this way. There are very few colonies left on this side of the river. Alloran has fallen, Fastia was burned to the ground, in the last month Denver, New Columbine, Hampshire, Tanet, St. George, New London, all gone,' he listed them off on his fingers.

'And Clementine' Salem added, wondering where Tell was going with this.

'And Clementine,' Tell nodded, 'so we're left with the big four, Gallia, Orion, Salvador and Romulus.'

'Right…' said Salem still not following.

'Salem, when Clementine fell, you came to us,' Salem made to interrupt but Tell silenced him with a look, 'It was the right thing to do, that's not the issue. My point is where do we go when Gallia falls? To Romulus? Our Allies? And when they fall, and Orion, and Salvador are nothing but ashes? Where then? This isn't going to go away. It's not going to end.'

'They're picking us off one by one?'

'Exactly, and we're running out of places to run.'

Salem was silent as the gravity of the situation hit him. He stared off, over the peaceful treetops into the silent night.

'So it's only a matter of time' said Tell, his voice cracking under the strain as reality became too much to bear.

'You can't talk like that.'

'It's the truth.'

'We can fight.'

'Listen we can't fight for ever, it's a numbers game, brother do the math.'

'No you listen for a minute, you got a thousand men down there, a thousand men willing to lay down their lives for their general and you talk like that? We do what we always do, we fight.'

'But it's hopeless. It's a loosing battle.'

'It's a numbers game right? So we even the playing field, call in reinforcements.'

'From where exactly?'

'The other side of the river, if the rumours are true, they're massive, the size of cities, holding millions.'

Tell looked up.

'And how exactly do we get a message to them? Email? Text? Do you want to perhaps write a letter?'

'We go to them.'

'Xavi, that's crazy?'

'Sometimes crazy works'.

'I think the whole point of crazy is that it doesn't work. Hence the craziness,' but there was a light in Tell's eyes now, faint, but definitely something.

'A convoy,' said Salem, turning away from his friend, looking down instead over the compound.

'A convoy,' Tell repeated, as though testing the words on his lips, 'You know who you sound like? You sound like dad. You remember his mantra?'

'Fear only surrender, dishonour only in defeat.'

'So we don't surrender,' Tell smiled, 'I guess its better then sitting here waiting to be ripped apart by demons?'

'Knew you'd find a silver lining.'

'That's me. Ever Optimistic.'

'You get optimism, I get crazy?'

Yeah something like that.'

'Sounds fair.'

'Well I thought so anyway.'

* * *

Volkov was bleeding. Cautiously, he raised a hand to the small cut in his arm, fingers trembling, mouth open comically.

'Fuck Volkov, are you OK?' Renoir peered down at him with mixed exasperation and amusement. The bewildered Russian nodded faintly. Renoir laughed, breathing a slight sigh of relief. He and Garcia had been doing a final perimeter check before finally turning in for the night when a distant flash of light and the sound of an explosion had shattered the silence. The smell of gunpowder and burning rubber had met his nostrils, as he had raced towards the source of the commotion. They had found Volkov sitting on the steps of an old house surrounded by a group of open-mouthed teenage boys. All of them were gazing at the remains of an old ford escort that was still smouldering slightly.

'Jesus man, what you do?' Garcia despite his best efforts was slightly impressed.

'Vas helping' said Volkov as though this was the most obvious thing in the world, 'Boys ver trying to burn car, I helped see.' He gestured slightly unnecessarily to the burnt out vehicle.

'It's true,' said the tallest of the boys, who was gazing at the Russian in admiration, 'He just lit this little blue thing on fire and BOOM!'

'It was epic' chimed in another. Volkov smiled, blushing slightly, embarrassed by all the praise.

'Vas nothing.'

'Can you show me how to do that?' said a third boy.

'Uh don't think the Gallia elders will appreciate that idea' said Garcia a little apprehensively.

'Yeah sorry don't think arson is the most highly thought of pastime,' grinned Renoir.

'Vas only being helpful,' said Volkov sulkily the teenagers turned to glare reproachfully at the two soldiers.

'Volkov,' said Garcia, trying to inject some reason into the conversation, 'If a group of kids asked you to jump of a bridge, would you do it?'

'Vell no.'

'Yeah but if a bunch of kids ask him to blow up a bridge I doubt he'd see the problem in that' Renoir was smiling now.

'You vant me to blow up a bridge?' Volkov's face lit up, and Garcia put his face in his hands.

'No I'm alright for now, but I'll know where to look should the need arise. What are you doing out here anyway?' asked Renoir.

'Vas looking for Mr. Salem.'

'Down here?'

'Have message for him, for you too I think. Is good I found you.'

'For me?'

'Yes, you and Mr. Salem.'

'That's odd.'

'Is vot I thought too.'

He handed over two envelopes with official looking seals, one addressed to Salem and one to Renoir. Renoir opened his discarding the envelope, eyes scanning the page.

'What's up?' said Garcia, craning his neck to see over Renoir's shoulder. Renoir was frowning slightly.

'We've been summoned to a council meeting tomorrow morning.'

'For what?'

'I dunno, it doesn't say. It's strange isn't it.'

'Why you?'

'I've no idea. Do me a favour Fedde, I'm gunna go deliver this to Salem,' he waved the second envelope addressed to the General, 'Take Volkov back to the barracks. And make sure he doesn't burn any bridges on the way back.'

'No problem, hopefully it will make more sense to Salem then it does to us.'

********************************************

But when Renoir found Salem in the training yard he was just as mystified as he and Garcia had been.

'Any ideas Tell?' he asked handing the letter to his friend before turning back to Renoir. 'I guess they called you because you're my second. Apart from that I dunno.'

Both men turned to Tell.

'Strange,' he began, 'I got one this morning, along with my second Sergeant Pardasa, but I didn't think anything of it. They like to keep the military involved with the politics, but if they're inviting you too…'

'You don't sound like you think it's a good thing,' said Renoir.

'It's just strange; I like to stay out of the politics if I can…'

'Probably a wise decision,' said Salem. 'Could we just not show?'

'I'd advise against it. It's probably nothing, still will be interesting all the same, it will give us a chance to voice our plan' he glanced meaningfully at Salem. Renoir looked from on to the other, confused.

'I guess we'll find out tomorrow,' said Tell finally, resigned.

'I guess so.'


	6. Chapter 6 Burning Bridges

**A/N** Right, this chapter hear is very important to the plot… Sadly it also happens to be rather boring… so apologies for that. Please don't just skim over it, (I think I would if I was the reader)-there is a lot going on here!

Chapter 6- Burning Bridges

The Council building was a testament to the Gallians success, a majestic white marble building that loomed spectacularly above all other structures. The stone gleamed in the dawn, the early morning sun rendering it a warm gold.

Tell was waiting at the entrance when Salem and Renoir arrived, bleary eyed and tousle haired. As usual, the young general looked impeccably groomed. Salem cast him a particularly dark look as they approached.

'Is there a reason they have to do this so damn early?' he groaned. Tell ignored him.

'I've been waiting for you. I found something out.'

'Tell me later when I'm actually awake.'

'It's important.'

They had reached the top of the steps now, Tell gave them a meaningful look and they fell silent. He led them into the entrance hall, a vast open room with a spectacular golden fountain in the centre. They were early, two older men sat along one of the many wooden benches that lined the wall, deep in conversation. A receptionist at a white marble desk was sucking the end of her pen, twirling a strand of shocking red hair around one finger. Tell approached her, Renoir and Salem in tow.

'General Tell,' she beamed looking up. She had a high pitched nasally voice.

'Mrs. Jones,' he smiled, ever the gentlemen, 'please let them know we've arrived. We'll be in my office.'

'Not a problem General, and call me Veronica' she simpered.

'Veronica,' he repeated, and she blushed scarlet, 'could you do me a favour?'

'Depends,' she said, raising her heavily pencilled eyebrows.

'Would you let me know if you see Lieutenant Pardasa? I think he's been delayed.'

She looked a little disappointed, 'Of course General Tell.'

'Much appreciated Veronica.'

'I think your receptionist is in heat,' said Salem helpfully as soon as they were out of earshot.

'Jones is always in heat' said Tell, smiling.

'Where's your second?' asked Renoir.

'Lieutenant Pardasa? I don't even want to think about it. He's hopeless, the son of one of the elite so you know the story. Incompetence seems to run in the family.'

Tell's office was on the second floor, spartanly furnished with a huge glass window that gave a spectacular view of the open training grounds and the fields beyond.

'Have a seat,' said Tell as he closed the door behind him.

The two men took a seat on the wooden bench and looked at him expectantly.

'Well?' prompted Salem.

'Well what?'

'Enough pausing for dramatic effect, what did you hear?'

Tell frowned slightly.

'It's odd really. I was talking to the soldiers on patrol for the morning shift, and it appears that group of around a hundred men arrived during the night.'

'That's not weird, there's been colonies arriving every day for weeks now.'

'No not a colony, they were military. From what the men said it sounded like an escort.'

'Escort for who?'

'That's where it gets interesting. It seems as though representatives from Orion, Salvador, and Romulus arrived a few hours ago.'

'What the other colonies?' Renoir exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

'How can you be sure,' asked Salem, frowning too.

'The banners,' said Tell simply,' They carried their colonies colours.'

'What could this mean? I mean them being here.'

'I've been thinking about that. I can't be sure but what ever it is I don't think it's a good sign.'

'Why? We're all on the same side aren't we?'

Tell smiled again, bitterly.

'Technically yes, but unfortunately the reality is quiet different. Traditionally there has been a lot of enmity among the colonies.'

'Politics?' asked Salem.

Renoir yawned loudly, then looked embarrassed. 'Sorry, natural reaction.'

'Understandable,' said Tell, 'yes mostly. I mean we tend to agree on most things. One ruler…'

Salem hissed angrily.

'You know in ancient Rome they used to suspend democracy in times of war, and give power to one man. It's impossible to be democratic in times like this, you need snap decisions, and we don't have the luxury of being able to go around holding referendums,' said Tell.

'Incase you haven't noticed that didn't work out too well for the Romans. They're all dead.'

'What kind of an argument is that? They'd be like a thousand years old. Of course they're dead.'

'Not the point.'

'It is the point, it's exactly the point.'

Renoir yawned again louder and Salem laughed. 'So anyway, the enmity?'

'Strong word, enmity. It's more the little things; each colony likes to believe that theirs is superior, things like that.

'Petty.'

'Quiet, hence the gold statues the ornate buildings. Pointless, it's all so shallow but the need for superiority is a part of human nature.'

'But yet they're here all of a sudden and unarmed?'

'Yes, and I can't seem to figure out why. For them to risk making this journey it must be important. As far as I can tell, they're here for the council meeting.'

'But why? Has this happened before?'

'No. Like I said there have always been tense relations between us.'

'So?'

'So this is bad Salem. Something big is happening.'

They sat in silence for a moment. Salem mulled this over in his head with difficulty as he still felt hazy from lack of sleep. What could be important enough for them to risk a journey in the open, especially at night. It didn't make sense. Something was bothering him about the story but he couldn't figure out what it was. A buzz interrupted his thoughts.

'General Tell?' Veronica Jones voice sounded even more nasally through the intercom.

'Veronica?'

'I found your Lieutenant.'

'Oh?'

'Yes… He's being sick in the fountain.'

'Lovely.'

*************************************************

The Council hall was the biggest room Salem had ever seen in his life, a vast open space with a high domed roof, and staggered seating leading down to a platform in the middle. It reminded him of pictures he'd seen of old college lecture halls. He and Renoir were given the seats next to Tell in the front row. It was the first time Salem had seen Tell look anything other then calm and reserved. A pale-faced Lieutenant Pardasa was seated on Tells other side, reeling back and forth, and suffering from what he had proudly described as 'the mother of all hangovers.'

'In fact,' he had told them gleefully as Tell had pulled him roughly into a standing position, 'I think I'm actually still drunk!' As though to prove his point, he turned and was sick all over Ms Jones' patent red heels. Tell seemed to be less then amused. He was now looking anywhere other then at the drunken soldier.

The hall was filling fast, and it seemed that Tell had been right about the representatives attending the meeting.

'That man with the beard,' he said leaning in to Salem, 'Is Pablo Dali, the leader of Salvador. He was a great general in his day, and that to his left is Santi Burlesco of Romulus, they're a more peaceful race.'

'Who's that?' asked Salem gesturing to a third man, tall and thin with dark almost black eyes that darted suspiciously around the room.

'That is Lewis Farrow, from Orion. I know very little about him to be honest.'

'He doesn't look happy.'

'No. In fact none of them do.'

'Who's that?' Salem gestured to the men who had taken a seat a little way down from them. The younger of the two had an arrogant air and Salem felt a great wave of dislike that he couldn't explain.

'Stallone Cramer. He's the leader of the Gallians. And that older man to his left is Cassius Cramer. He's Stallone's father and was a great ruler in his day. Sadly I can't say the same for the son. Power hungry and in my opinion corrupt.'

Salem scanned the room again. Everyone looked nervous and uncertain.

'Tell something's bothering me about the arrival of the other colony's leader's arriving, it's…'

But Tell shushed him impatiently. Everyone was seated at this stage, and silence was beginning to fill the hall.

'Your attention please,' drawled Stallone lazily, 'We have been called here to form a plan of action to deal with the present situation.'

A ripple of unease and apprehension flickered through the watching crowd.

'My esteemed councillor Santi Burlesco,' continued Stallone, 'if you would like to begin.'

The Romulus ruler, Santi Burlesco was getting to his feet. He nodded his thanks to Stallone, who waved a hand lazily. All eyes flicked to him.

'Ladies and gentlemen, Residents and Guests,' he began, 'I have good news. It seems that an end to all this unpleasantness is in sight.'

'What?' hissed Salem stunned. Tell shook his head, bemused. Muttering broke out within the hall as people voiced their disbelief, and exchanged apprehensive glances. Burlesco held up a hand for silence and the noise immediately subsided.

'We have reached an agreement with our enemy, it appears that peace is mere days away.'

'Hold on a minute,' said a man in soldier's uniform in the Salvador party, 'your trying to tell us you've reached an agreement with the demons? Are you crazy?'

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Burlesco seemed unfazed.

'We have been offered a compromise.'

'Burlesco you can't compromise with demons,' Dali was on his feat. 'No one controls them. What you're saying is madness. They are driven by bloodlust and violence, there is no reason there.'

'On the contrary, Counsellor,' said Burlesco, 'They seem just as eager as we are to find peace.'

'Funny way of showing it, you know with the whole constantly trying to kill us thing,' said Renoir. Salem nodded appreciatively.

'Order please,' drawled Stallone, 'At least hear the man out.'

'Thank you,' said Burlesco, 'The demon's are willing to cease hostilities if we agree to submit to their rule.'

The impact of this simple statement was extreme. Renoir was on his feet yelling, the soldier from Salvador was screaming abuse at Burlesco, Dali's was back on his feet, looking furious, 'I'll say it one more time Burlesco this is madness.'

Burlesco looked around for support. Stallone was on his feet 'Dali sit down and restrain your soldiers, the fact is we are running out of options.'

'We only ever had one option and that was to fight,' snapped Tell.

'Be quiet General or I will have you removed.'

'By who?' asked Salem, 'His own men?'

'General Xavrios this does not concern you sit down it is a matter for the counsellors to discus.'

'Like hell it doesn't concern us,' yelled a soldier in the Orion party, 'What happened to democracy.'

'You are soldiers!' bellowed Burlesco, emboldened by the support, 'Your job is to fight not to think.'

'I am both a counsellor and a soldier and I say this is ludicrous,' said Dali, glaring at the other two.

'Yes yes we're all aware of that Dali. Fallow…' said Burlesco turning to the Orion party and trying to be reasonable, 'you have yet to voice your opinion.'

The Orion leader looked up, face sombre, 'It is clear to me that we have no choice in the matter.'

'Exactly,' said Burlesco looking at Dali, 'no choice no other option but to accept the offer. So majority rule.'

'No,' said the Orion looking hard at Stallone, hatred burning in his eyes 'the choice, it seems is not ours to make.'

'Who's side are you on?' snapped Dali, 'Of course we have a choice, surrender or fight.'

'No…' said Tell, and Salem noticed he was suddenly mush paler, 'He's right. No choice.'

'Tell…' pleaded Salem in disbelief. The visiting soldiers stared at Tell as though he had betrayed them.

Tell closed his eyes, 'Burlesco, you travelled here last night? With an escort of twenty.'

'What? I… yes.'

'Doesn't that seem odd to anyone?' said Tell. His eyes met Fallow's and an understanding passed between them.

'It's to big a risk. I knew something was wrong. A journey of more then twenty miles in the dead of night when the demons are most active is nothing short of insanity. Unless…'

'Unless he knew they weren't going to be attacked!' Salem leapt to his feet. 'You've signed it haven't you? No debate, nothing you just signed away our freedom.'

'What choice did I have?' snapped Burlesco, 'You soldiers would have us all perish, all the women and children just so you could chase glory!'

The Romulus general, a stocky man with a thick moustache was glaring at his leader in disbelief.

'It matters not what you sign' he said in broken English 'we resist.'

'Then you are no longer welcome in Romulus. Or Gallia for that matter. The decision is made' said Burlesco.

'You gotta be kidding me' said a younger soldier who was glaring at Burlesco.

'One of the clauses of the agreement, and a regrettable one of course, was that all who resist will be killed, all who aid resisters will be killed,' said Stallone.

'A sure sign of a race that wants nothing more then peace,' said Tell bitterly, glaring at Stallone.

'I said it was regrettable.'

'So what you're saying basically is we surrender to the demon rule, or they kill us and you'll do nothing to stop this, if fact you agreed to it?' asked an Orion soldier.

'You are twisting my words, you're making it seem worse then it is' snapped Burlesco.

Pablo Dali had his head in his hands. Farrow from Orion stood, and all eyes flicked to him. 'Burlesco you are a coward,' he began and there was a smattering of applause from the spectating soldiers. Farrow ignored this and continued. 'But Stallone you are worse. Burlesco agreed to this out of fear in his heart, but you because it was simply easier. You will regret this, I assure you, you will regret the day you made a deal with the devil. That said,' he continued over renewed applause 'It is clear to me that Dali and I have no other choice but to agree…' The soldiers hissed in disappointment.

'But' said Farrow and the noise died down, 'every man woman and child has a right to choose. Dali we can not make this decision for our people, we simply do not have the right. The choice is clear, we stay under demon rule or we leave.'

'What do you mean leave?' Stallone retorted angrily.

'I mean leave, leave the compounds, leave this behind.'

'You will be alone Fallow, you fool. You will have nothing,' said Burlesco glaring at him steadily.

'I have me freedom Burlesco, I have my dignity my self respect and I have hope, which is far more then I can now say for any of you.'

'Soldiers,' he said, turning to his assembled guard, 'I leave at dawn, and would welcome your support though I do not command it. It is a choice you must make yourself.' Then he turned back to Stallone and Burlesco, 'You are lambs leading lions, do not forget that.' With that he stood, and left the Council Hall. In one movement, his soldiers stood and followed.

'Well good riddance to them,' began Burlesco, but even as he spoke, Dali was standing, his men following suit.

'Dali don't be a fool.'

But it was too late, they were already through the door.

'No matter no matter!' said Stallone.

Tell and Salem exchanged a look. Salem nodded once, and Tell stood to leave.

'General Tell I order you to sit down!' screeched Stallone, 'I will have your rank removed. **Sit**! My men will have you arrested, you and your friend. Pardasa can be general. These are my men.'

But Tell didn't look back, he stood, as straight backed and elegant as when Renoir had first seen them all those weeks ago.

'These men belong to no one Stallone. You do not know them as I do. They will not bow to you, they will not bow to demons. They do not fear you, they do not fear death, they fear only surrender, they will never give up.'

With that, every single soldier left sitting rose. The Gallians falling behind Tell, Burlesco's men abandoning him, and joining the others.

'We leave at dawn,' repeated Tell echoing Farrow.


End file.
